


Deal Me In?

by insertcleverpennamehere



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, I miss pre-AA Virgil k, I think as the ego he has a right to hang out with the darkies, I will stand by Roman until the day I die okay, Morally Neutral Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Morally Neutral Deceit | Janus Sanders, Post-Episode: Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux | Sanders Sides, Rated T for some cursing, Remus being Remus, Spice, Sympathetic Dark Sides (Sanders Sides), he has something current Virgil lacks, poker night with da bois, psychologically he's the bridge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcleverpennamehere/pseuds/insertcleverpennamehere
Summary: There was never a spoken agreement that it was Their Thing. There was never a spoken agreement to stop, and there was certainly never a spoken agreement to start in the first place. But it happened, and Their Thing had slithered into their life so easily that even the Snake himself hadn't noticed.In other words, it was a tradition. Funny thing, traditions. There are two types of traditions: the ones your mother begins with all the right intentions but all the wrong timing and starve of attention, and the ones that just... happen, and become so close to your soul that to not do them feels like blasphemy against your very existence.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Deal Me In?

The tradition started when they were fifteen. Virgil was at peak emo, Remus in his prime, and Janus was starving for knowledge. He was even hungrier than Logan, who was in the process of simultaneously buckling and flourishing under a volatile high school workload. Janus didn't have to worry about the volume of a sphere or MLA formatting or the frankly concerning amount of citations required of a freshman. (Though really, Thomas should pay more attention to his citations.)

Janus worried about the world outside of high school. He concerned himself with the politics at the dinner table and narcotics students passed under desks. He was the one who kept Thomas up thinking about the harsh reality of the world to come and how Thomas needed to start preparing. He pointed out all the little skills that Thomas could (but never actually did) pick up to gain an edge against people equally afraid of being taken advantage of. 

One thought process led to another, and soon enough he was pulling a deck of cards out of his sleeve - literally - and sitting down at the kitchen table of the commons. 

Well, there were two mindscape commons at this stage of Thomas' life. The Mindscape was more meshed than it would be in another fifteen years, but things were divided enough that the "Dark Sides" had a space all to their own that the others never entered. 

Remus got curious, naturally enough. Janus had to save one or two - or seven - cards from getting eaten in the first ten minutes, and at that point he was seriously considering taking this new activity to his room. But it was also an experiment, to see how many Sides he could get behind this new game to convince Thomas to pick it up. 

(Spoiler alert: not enough. But that fact never mattered in the end.) 

Then Virgil sat down. Janus raised a stiff eyebrow, to which Virgil flipped his bangs into his eyes. "Might be useful," he mumbled, and didn't respond to anything beyond that. But he took his cards when Janus dealt them out with slightly clumsy fingers. Remus took his as well, and none of them disappeared anywhere unpleasant. 

"Poker," Janus announced seriously as he re-shuffled, "is the game of the brilliant. It is the game of actors, liars, and masters of the odds and - "

"Anus, if you don't shut up and start the game, I'm eating my entire hand. And I mean my actual hand, not just these cards." 

That first game ended with Remus naked under the table, Virgil gone, and Janus searching for half the deck. He gave up five minutes in and tossed the empty box into the trash can in his room, deciding that poker was best learned alone. That philosophy didn't hold up, and two days later he was in the commons again, with a new set and knowledge under his belt. 

Game three, Virgil returned to the table. Without a word he took his cards, watched Janus and Remus, and motioned wordlessly to communicate with the dealer - in this case Janus, who wasn't actually rigging, despite popular belief. It's hard to rig a game you don't fully understand. (Yet.) 

Remus' poker face was terrible, for the record. His bluffs could be called in a heartbeat, sometimes even before he knew he would be bluffing. He never seemed to mind when he was forced to fold. Virgil was similarly unsuccessful, though his weakness lay in his inability to decipher Janus, who, having spent his whole life practicing it, had a stellar poker face. 

Game three, Janus won. And game four, and six, and seven. Game five he let Virgil win, because predictability is boring. 

And thus the tradition was born. There were no written agreements. No "I'll see you then"s. But every Friday night, Janus would be at the table with the deck and chips, and Virgil and Remus would stop whatever they were doing and sit down, take the hands they were dealt, and settle in. 

Chaos and serenity aren't supposed to coexist in the same breath, but they did on those Friday nights. Remus would make a revolving crack and Virgil would respond with disgust, and Janus would interject with something sarcastic, witty, and occasionally wise. Over time, Virgil began cracking jokes. They were dark and sadistic jokes, but Virgil was in good company. Once or twice, they were enough to break Janus' composure and he'd find himself laughing into his hand. 

To the rest of the world, those nights didn't exist. Those three never spoke of them, never gave signs that the eyes darkened with makeup or stress had ever been creased with laughter. They still snapped at each other - occasionally tore at each other - wounded each other and the others, and wounded Thomas as aspects prone to violence are inevitably bound to do. 

No one ever said anxiety or impulse or deception were infallible. Far from it. They made the worst mistakes. 

One day the routine was broken. It was a Wednesday, the day after Thomas had come out. Virgil was a hot mess, Janus' footing had completely shifted, and Remus was running rampant with no one to hold him down. Virgil appeared in Janus' room with a deck of cards and wordlessly slapped them down on his desk, staring the snake in the eye. His eyeshadow was running, his eyes red, his fingernails ragged and bleeding. The skin under his sleeves was likely broken. 

Janus finished his assessment and returned his gaze to the emo's, his hand finding the deck. "Deal you in?"

That night, Janus and Virgil were silent while Remus rambled, saying aloud the things they were all thinking. It was far from a peaceful game, but by the time they ended, Virgil's hands had stopped shaking and Janus was able to keep a train of thought. Remus was less jumpy too, and had made it further than he ever had before. It was almost enough to wonder if he knew what he was doing at poker. Almost. 

It was one of their last games in a long time. After that, everything descended into chaos and poker was forgotten. Words were thrown, bitter words. Walls were thrown up and people got hurt and people were left behind, and while no one was at fault, everyone payed.

Then Virgil left. 

The deck and chips went into a box under Janus' desk to accumulate dust. 

Time changes people from the inside out. That never applied more than it did to the mindscape. Camaraderie became a fool's errand to the Dark Sides. Time had taught them that friendship only ended in pain. If they didn't look out for number one, then no one would. It was a vicious cycle, but no one was inclined to break it. As Thomas grew older and the mindscape divided, they used the skills they learned. 

Janus refined his acting abilities to the point where he knew his own tells. Sometimes he let them slip on purpose, because a man without tells is even more suspicious than a man with them, but the important thing was he was in control. He could keep both hands wrapped tightly around a situation and not let go, squeezing and manipulating the people around him with efficiency. 

Virgil could read people like a book. Facial tics, body language, tone, you name it. It saved Thomas from more than one bully, though his tendency to overthink usually magnified the interpretations. That skill made it really easy to chase away friends. Which he did. Often. The years went on, and anxiety never grew out of the emo phase, instead opting to cling to the style that reminded him of when things were just a little better. When he wasn't quite so alone. 

Remus discovered patience. He concealed his intentions just enough to get his way. He learned that some actions got a bigger reaction than others, and that he could use those reactions to his advantage. It was fun to play with the self-righteous pomps his brother Roman pranced around with. When they were younger, they could see his attacks from miles away and reacted accordingly. Now, he snuck up on them right when they least expected, screwed with their lives, and ran away laughing before they recovered.

It used to be a tradition, but it died as subtly as it began and left a hole in its absence. On Friday nights Virgil curled up tighter in his bed, fighting the itch that told him he had somewhere to be. Remus chewed on a poker chip when he was thinking, and Janus used his down time to master proficiency with a card deck, among other things. 

The rest was history. Virgil joined the pomps, even going so far as to befriend Remus' brother. Remus and Janus watched from afar as they "accepted" him, changing him into this pushover with a heart as soft as a rotten peach. It was… saddening.

His joining did have one advantage, however: it opened the door for the Dark Sides to say hello to their host. Janus was the first, slipping in to test just how far Thomas would go for his own personal gain. Virgil didn’t like that. Remus followed, patience paying off as he finally got to wreak his havoc. 

The bitter words returned. The stakes were higher. The dealer kept his cards up his sleeve, the players danced around with the same caution as before. Only there were more players, and most of them didn’t realize they were gambling. 

So... things were tense. But they’d been tense for a while, they’d just been subcutaneous. However, the unspoken (and spoken) words unknowingly came to a head when Janus played his last card, after using them all up in the courtroom and battling Patton. 

He lay down his name, forever foregoing the title of Deceit. 

Game over. 

After a game, the people leave the table. They still know each other, but they don’t interact without premeditated friendship. The table stays empty until it’s set again. Thomas’ mind became an empty table as each player retreated to nurse their wounds. Janus, of a game that he for once could not manipulate. Remus, with the absence that filled the hole of a meaningless victory. Virgil, who had once again failed to read his cues or take advantage of the situation. 

There was one advantage to Janus and Remus coming into light, however. Moving into the Conscious, where the pomps spent their days. Maybe there was pain whenever Virgil ran into Janus downstairs, or discomfort whenever Remus was forced to interact with his brother without succumbing to the impulse of violence. But they did see each other more often, and instead of hatred… 

Funny thing, traditions. They bury themselves in your soul, become a part of who you are without your permission. One night, Janus found himself tapping his card deck against his desk as he stared out the window. He found himself doing that a lot, staring. Thinking. Pouring over what he’d done, what he could do, what he was going to do. The subject was always different, but the rhythm was the same. 

_ Tap tap tap tap.  _ Thomas. _Tap tap tap tap._ Virgil.  _ Tap tap tap tap. _ Roman.  _ Tap tap tap tap.  _

He let out a breath and tossed the box aside. One hand pulled off his hat and the other ran through his hair as he learned forwards. So much to think about. So many different webs. Where did he go wrong? How could he fix it? 

Too many things to think about. Too many factors. He rested his forehead on the cool wood, his fingers finding the card deck again. 

_ Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. _

A game would calm his mind. The feel of the cards fluttering through his fingers, the adrenaline of an unknown factor that he could learn, if he only looked hard enough. Rules. As much as he preached against them, Janus loved rules. Sense. Structure. Maybe he had more in common with Logan than he’d first thought. 

He sat up abruptly, donning his hat in the same sweeping move. With one hand he swept up the card deck, and with the other he picked up the box of chips from under his desk. It was late, and maybe no one would come, and that would be fine. If nothing else, the aesthetic of the moment would distract him. Janus didn’t bother turning on the lights when he went downstairs. Instead he lit candles, setting them in the middle of the table as he stacked the chips and shuffled the cards. Then he sat down, drew a single card off the top of the deck, and studied it. A joker. 

It’s not like he had anything else to do, not alone. Years ago he’d discovered that a one-man poker game was no fun at all. 

All of a sudden, the card was plucked from his fingers from behind. He whirled in time to see Remus eat it. 

“Haven’t done this in a long time,” Remus grinned, picking cardstock out of his teeth. He kicked a chair out and sat down to Janus’ right, where he’d always sat. “Hope you didn’t need that card.”

“I did, actually,” Janus grumbled, conjuring a new joker and slipping it into the bottom of the deck. “What have we said about eating cards?”

“They taste best blended.”

“Try again.” 

“You don’t like it when I do that. Your point being? Let’s get the game started, snakeass. I’m itching for a little cardstock salad.” 

Janus rolled his eyes. “A two person table doesn’t make for a very interesting game, don’t you think?” 

Remus raised one eyebrow as he slid his hand towards the deck. “Cardstock salad. Should we go wake Virgy? It’ll be like old times!” 

“No!” It came out louder than Janus had intended. He bit the inside of his lip, hoping it hadn’t woken anyone, least of all Virgil. “No. I don’t think he’d want to play either way.” One gloved hand slapped Remus’ hand away from the deck. “We can play just the two of us.” 

A chair scraped. Both of them looked to the spot to Janus’ left, where Virgil had appeared as if he were a summoned demon. His purple hoodie was gone, replaced with the old grey plaid from days gone by. It seemed to throw both of them for a loop, as even Remus sat frozen, one hand still extended across the table. 

“What,” he monotoned as he sat. “I was feeling like a change of pace. Kinda hard to sneak through the night when you look like a Coraline puppet on steroids.” 

“Didn’t realize you were feeling social,” Janus remarked, reshuffling the deck. The cards buzzed through his fingers and flicked face down in front of them in an even succession. 

“Roman isn’t exactly quiet in the bathroom,” Virgil mumbled, taking his hand and giving a cursory glance. “I couldn’t get back to sleep.” 

“Can we play strip poker this time? Just this once? Please?”

“No,” Virgil and Janus chimed without even glancing up. 

Traditions are funny. There was never a spoken agreement to begin… but then, there had never been an agreement to stop, either. 

* * *

The night was too quiet. Roman could actually hear the bats flying outside his window. 

Ever since Remus had moved into the Conscious, it had been nearly impossible to get a good night’s sleep. Thomas was fine most nights, but Roman, on the other hand? Apparently his room was the only one that wasn’t soundproofed against Remus. He’d tried to soundproof, but apparently he’d been cursed with some kind of brotherly connection to always know what Remus was… up to. That never happened when Remus stayed down in the Subconscious.

Yay. 

But anyways, it was quiet. The one night it was quiet, and Roman couldn’t get to sleep. He’d gone into the bathroom twice already to wet his face, stare himself in the mirror, and generally question life, but his thoughts wouldn’t let him sink into unconsciousness. So he lay awake in bed, praying that morning would come quickly so he could start over and maybe start building something of himself that wasn’t a screw up. 

_ “FUCK!”  _

The scream from downstairs startled him out of his bed. He thumped to the floor tangled in sheets, both arms tangled and unable to reach for the sword propped by his bed. One of the others had screamed downstairs, had cursed no less. They needed help, someone was hurt, oh God what if it was Pat, it had to be bad if Patton was cursing - 

“Pfftt  _kahahaha - ”_

Was that… laughing? No, cackling. It was Remus. Was Remus down with Patton? 

He untangled himself, swept the sword up, and opened his door, ready to storm down there and show his brother the meaning of holy wrath. But then another noise made him pause, made his grip on the hilt loosen because it was a sound he never would’ve expected in a million years. 

Virgil’s laughter. 

It was light. And it was soft, barely audible from upstairs. But it was unmistakably Virgil. 

He’d been trying to get Virgil to laugh for years now. Sometimes he succeeded in eliciting a smile or sarcastic chuckle, but never a genuine, _I’m glad to be here_ laugh. 

And he was with Remus. 

Roman had been confused many times in his life. None of that compared to the uncertainty and betrayal that he felt now. He readjusted his grip on his sword and crept down the stairs enough to peer through the railing without being seen. 

It took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing. The kitchen table was set up for a game of poker, several candles adding a nice dramatic touch. Virgil was seated with his back to the stairs, one hand on his forehead as he leaned backwards with laughter. In his other, a hand of cards. Janus was standing, his chair tipped over as he struggled with his shirt. Remus was on the ground, wheezing with laughter. 

“Do it again,” Virgil gasped, pointing at Remus. “Do it again, that was hilarious.”

“Don’t do it again!” Janus hissed, finally unbuttoning his overshirt. “Damn it, you little bastard. ” He dropped the shirt on the ground like it was on fire. The yellow button-up he’d been wearing underneath had a stain down the back. Remus must’ve dropped something slimy down his collar while he’d been distracted. 

“You looked like a little puppet dancing around,” Virgil grinned, an old touch of malice in his voice. “Duh duh duh, we’re dead! Young Pinocchio, never to be a real boy.” He lifted his arms in a mildly threatening manner, waving them as if they were attached to strings.

That… sounded concerningly like the Virgil from before his acceptance. The one with the smudged eyeshadow and grey sweater. Roman’s eyes flicked down to Virgil’s hoodie, half expecting to see the old grey pl - 

There it was. 

_ There it was.  _

For a long moment, Roman wondered if he was dreaming. If he was witnessing some old memory that didn’t belong to him. Stranger things had happened in the mind palace, after all. But there they were, the three of them. The three Sides that he hated the most, sitting together in the dark and laughing. 

He sat down heavily on the stairs, covering his mouth with his hand. He had to be dreaming. Virgil wouldn’t… Virgil hated them too. 

The Side in question ran a hand through his hair as Janus and Remus returned to their seats, Remus sitting with the back of his chair propped under his chin. “I raise fifty,” he decided, setting a handful of chips in the pool. 

“Call.” 

“Call.” 

Remus was munching on deodorant as they played, but other than that this was the calmest Roman had ever seen his brother. He actually seemed invested in the game, and it made Roman wonder how long this had been going on. Had Virgil been playing poker with his old buddies all these years? Had he been conning them this whole time? 

It was too terrible an idea to even consider. It was also a very strange one. Virgil had never struck him as the poker type, yet he sat at that table with the confidence of an expert. 

“I missed this,” Remus suddenly said, breaking a moment of silence. Virgil didn’t react that Roman could see, but Janus glanced sideways, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t know it emo, but this was something fun. Stopped playing after you left, you know. Wasn’t the same.”

Virgil remained motionless, and Janus had gone still. It was almost as if some terrible subject had been breached, and no one wanted to be the first to test the waters. 

“Anyways, all that to say I raise two hundred,” Remus shrugged. He took another bite of deodorant. 

“Bluff,” Janus announced matter of factly. “Really, Remus, do you ever learn?” 

Roman wasn’t sure what he was witnessing. It was foreign, for sure. Thomas didn’t even know how to play poker, so they certainly didn’t get the skill from him. That meant they actually took the time to learn it. Remus, taking the time to learn something?

He sat in the stairwell, watching as they finished the round. It took longer than it should’ve, interrupted by Remus getting up to make himself snacks or grab a beer and Virgil knocking Janus over whenever the snake unconsciously tipped his chair. 

As a storyteller, he could appreciate this stolen moment. This was a “what once was” and a “what it could’ve been.” This was one of those things that was never mentioned again, that didn’t change anything about the way they addressed each other in broad daylight. It would be only a memory when the night was over, one that would be filed away because it was a moment of weakness, and moments of weakness were invitations for attack by people… 

People like him. 

Yeah, the Dark Sides were conniving and selfish and manipulative. They bowled ahead without consideration of others. They were aggressive and reckless. For every good decision Patton made, one of them was there to turn Thomas towards a different one. That wasn’t a good thing, no. But those descriptions sounded an awful lot like the thoughts that Roman had been thinking about himself. 

He wasn’t like Patton. He couldn’t deny that fact anymore. But he couldn’t be like Janus or the old, ruthless Virgil, or God forbid, Remus. They hurt Thomas, they were evil, they… 

They were laughing over a midnight game of poker. 

Roman couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Logan laugh. Or Patton, for that matter. Not genuinely. And neither of them were ever truly willing to let go of the image of themselves. Logan refused to smile, Patton refused to not smile. Roman was an actor, yes, and he did his fair share of acting through the day, but it was exhausting to be around people unwilling to let down their walls and show who they truly were. 

As he watched Remus chew on a poker chip, he wondered if he was evil for wanting what the three Sides below him had. A stolen moment of naughtiness, where they could just be them without any fear of judgement or memory. 

If they never mentioned these nights, then maybe they wouldn’t mention him if he joined them. Maybe they wouldn’t hold him accountable the way Logan or Patton or even Thomas inevitably would. Maybe they would just ignore him in the daylight hours and they could go on with life. 

Maybe he needed to go to sleep and forget the whole thing.

* * *

His shirt was ruined, Virgil was being an ass, and Remus’ obscene remarks made Janus want to jump through a window. 

Yet he found himself smiling. 

Besides, he had a good hand and a good idea of what the other two had. Despite how long it’d been, he’d slipped back into the game like an old glove. Sometimes he’d find himself believing he was fifteen years back, sitting down to learn the game for the first time. But that was a lie, a sentimental construct his brain was tricking him with to believe that this was something he could keep. 

No, he couldn’t keep this night. This was a one-off, and even as he puzzled over the odds of the game, another part of his mind puzzled over why Virgil was down here in the first place, especially in his old hoodie. Had Anxiety decided that if it was done in the dark, no one would care? Did a part of him hope for what he’d left behind, that couldn’t be fulfilled by the pomps? 

Virgil hated him, that much was clear. 

Then again, people lie. 

The round finished. The betting pool was large, and he savored the stakes, even if they weren’t betting anything but imaginary credits attached to the chips. Sometimes it was just about winning, and not the rewards that came with it. He was wise enough to admit that. 

Their games used to last into the early morning. It was past midnight, and Janus wondered if they’d stay up until they’d have to hide away from Patton or if Virgil would bow out before then and disappear, redonning his purple patches and pride. 

“I’m telling ya, strip poker,” Remus mused, tipping back precariously in his chair. Virgil was watching him like a hawk, and Janus knew that if Remus was in rage of Virgil’s boot he’d have been flat on his back long ago. “Dontcha just wanna let loose and get sexy?” 

A figure suddenly loomed over Virgil’s shoulder, causing the anxious side to jump and hiss. Janus tensed, and Remus fell backwards with a thump. 

Roman pulled out the chair across from Janus and sat down. He was wearing a red hoodie and black sweatpants, hair mused beyond control. It was a far cry from his usual embellished tunic, but he didn’t seem to care. 

“Deal me in?” 

  
  



End file.
